


Say Please (and i'll give you the world)

by Nitzer



Series: i'm never getting over b1a4 over flowers apparently [2]
Category: B1A4
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Feminization, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panty Kink, Praise Kink, baro is a really good bf, cross-dressing, def not sfw but not smut, jinyoung/gongchan/cnu still kinda implied, like almost porn but still not porn, lots of petnames, they barely make an appearance tho, this is shockingly domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 16:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15271503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: "It’s later that night when I’m on some sketchy fetish site, trying to find out what type of panties look best with a dick in them that I wonder if this thing has gotten a little out of hand."Or Sandeul wants to dress up for Baro but the whole thing gets really out of hand (and there's less porn than you think).





	Say Please (and i'll give you the world)

**Author's Note:**

> i unfortunately have a lot to say about this for it being a completely unplanned kinda direct sequel to Over Flowers, for one this is pretty much a direct sequel to Over Flowers but you don't really need the context and like the original this references B1A4 Over Flowers (but not as heavily)  
> second, there's talk of gender identity and exploring one's gender identity in here and like i know that that's a serious and difficult process but like sanduel doesn't take it seriously bc he's a little shit and he's just trying to get fucked, not trying to take away from like the actual challenges of developing a gender identity  
> third, i reference lots of other things in here for basically no reason. i reference block b bc they debuted around the same time as b1a4 but the two still managed to like never interact? and the "Jinmo" referenced is Jinmo "tobi" Yang and the "Injae" is Injae "EscA" Kim, both are former members of pro overwatch team, Lunatic Hai and both are actually really close with gongchan (and weirdly enough, i know b1a4 bc of that friendship)  
> anyway, i didn't plan on writing any of this

I don’t go to the wardrobe department or the coordi noonas for the Jan Di costume because I’m not Channie, I’m not the cute, golden child and they’re not as fond of me. Also the costume is probably gone or lost or won’t fit the same. I’d rather kind of approximate my own. Anyways the Jan Di costume is just a boring, kinda ugly and highly uncomfortable school uniform. I can do better.

I start with the thigh highs because that’s really what I want, that’s the center piece. I don’t need the whole costume, just those, to get what I want (big, warm hands freely roaming over delicate and sensitive skin while still feigning some kind of innocence). I settle on a pair of plain white ones because the plain ones felt nice on me last time (and looked good too apparently). Then the package shows up and I get my hands on soft, almost silky socks and I realize that I can’t just wear these with boxers or by themselves or whatever. They’re too nice, too pretty.

So I shove them underneath all my other clothes in a drawer somewhere and think about a skirt to go with them. I’ve thought about skirts before. I’ve _been_ in skirts before. They just weren’t nearly as interesting without hungry eyes on me, without someone desperate to get their hands on me (someone that I’m equally as desperate for). I stick with the pleated skirt because there really is something to be said for the schoolgirl look and stick with the same soft grey for simplicity’s sake. I find a “sexy schoolgirl” version online while shopping around and go for that one instead of something more standard because I want it to be sexy and, more importantly, I want it shorter. There was barely any bare skin between the skirt and the socks in the Jan Di costume and I’m really looking for more.

When the skirt shows up I try it on with the socks and find out just how short “sexy schoolgirl” skirts are. There’s an expanse of bare thigh between the socks and the skirt and I love that but it only barely covers my ass and my boxers hang out from the bottom. Like a lot of boxer. It’s not cute. I try briefs too but I haven’t bought myself briefs in like a million years and they’re old as shit and they don’t look cute either. I dejectedly change back into my sweats and tuck the skirt and the socks into the same place at the bottom of my drawer, saving them for when I think of something better.

It’s later that night when I’m on some sketchy fetish site, trying to find out what type of panties look best with a dick in them that I wonder if this thing has gotten a little out of hand. But it’s nearing two in the morning and my judgment is cloudy and I just keep thinking about the burning warmth of his hands on my thighs so I push forward. I’ll deal with how deep this dumb little idea went (and the viruses I probably gave my poor laptop) in the morning.

I wake up the next morning to a curious and sleepy Sunwoo pushing one of my stuffed animals into my arms. I’m curling around it before I can even think of doing otherwise. “Morning,” he murmurs to me once he sees that my eyes have cracked open.

I make some noncommittal, meaningless noise and try to burrow myself into his arms instead. He pets my hair while I stretch myself out and then think better of it and snuggle back into him and then stretch out again. “I brought you home leftovers last night.” I sigh happily at the thought of immediate food that isn’t ramyeon. “But god only knows if Channie’s gotten to it first.” He tosses out casually like he didn’t just wave food in my face and then threaten to take it away.

I groan and untuck my face from his chest. “Will you heat it up before he does?” I ask sweetly. “Please?” I tack on.

He stares me down for a good minute before breaking out into a fond and exasperated smile (one of my favorite smiles in the whole world, honestly). “Fine,” he sighs, “fine, you spoiled brat. You gotta stop pulling that cute shit, though, you’re older than me.”

“Thanks, babe.” I call out after him as he’s dragging himself towards the kitchen. I watch his shoulders tense up for a second on his way out and realize that it’s the first time I’ve ever called him “babe.” But it feels so good on my tongue I doubt it will be the last time.

When the food is done (I _knew_ that Sunwoo would never wave food in my face and not let me have it), he lets me on his back and carries me to the kitchen. Not before calling me a “spoiled brat” again though. The leftovers are regional, remind me of home and one of my favorites and I know that it’s no coincidence that Sunwoo brought it home (and kept it for me).

Later, when Sunwoo is occupied trying to catch up to Chansik’s rank in Overwatch I open my laptop back up to the check out screen for a pair of white, mesh and lace panties that I picked out the night before. I think about all the piggyback rides (and that one time that Sunwoo picked me up bridal style and I was so shocked and turned on that I _whined_ ) and all those looks of undiluted adoration that I sometimes caught from him and all the spoiling he does. And I think about what he’d look like, sliding his hand up and under the short, grey, pleated skirt to feel lace underneath—delighted? Shocked? _Wanting_? And I decide that it’s not really a solo thing, what I’m doing here and that Sunwoo absolutely deserves to be spoiled. It doesn’t matter how deep this rabbit hole goes because it’s for Sunwoo and he deserves the world.

So I order the panties.

When the plain, brown box shows up at the dorms I buzz with childish excitement because I _know_ what’s in there and I’m the only one. I lock the door to my room just to open the package. The material is soft between my fingers and way higher quality than I expected from whatever less than savory website I picked them out on. The mesh is tighter than I realized and barely see-through, making the whole look somewhere between cute and sexy. I dig the skirt and the socks out of the bottom of my drawer to try it all together.

The panties are tight around my thighs but slide easily and are so soft and light I barely feel like I’m wearing anything. The socks are equally as soft and sit snug around my thighs and the skirt is airy (and short, so fucking _short_ ). The whole outfit is so light and airy, I only feel it where it digs in at my thighs and around my waist. And I’m so used to clothes being _heavy_ , so used to constantly feeling them on my body that this kinda makes me want to twirl around just to feel the breeze. I snap the socks into place once, shivering at the feeling, before finally assessing myself in the mirror.

I don’t even get a chance to appreciate what I’ve put together because the image of me, shirtless with my bottom half pretty much completely covered in cute stuff is so stunningly awkward that I _have_ to fix it. I think about ordering a top, maybe a button-up for the schoolgirl theme, while pulling my pajama shirt on just to cover up, but then I remember how restricting, how _suffocating_ the Jan Di costume was and I rethink it. I rethink ordering something else all together because I remember a soft yellow sweater that was always too big for me that made me look cute and feminine, hiding in my wardrobe somewhere. I dig the sweater out of the back of closet (under some Halloween costume that I’m pretty sure was supposed to match with Sunwoo) and swap it out for my pajama shirt.

The sweater is soft—not only in the pretty, light and sunny yellow it is but also somehow soft and worn under my fingers (despite me rarely wearing it). It’s still loose and too big for me, hanging past my fingers and nearly swallowing the skirt and dropping low on my neck, baring plenty of my collarbone. I smooth my hands down the front of the sweater once, then let them drop lower, playing with the hem of the skirt. It takes half a second to just give in and skim my hands over my thighs and push them back up, under the skirt to admire the panties. Which really were something entirely different, with the flipped-up schoolgirl skirt framing them.

Despite all the hours I spent on that fetish site I still expect it to look weird. Panties aren’t made for dicks. They just... _aren’t_. I’m pleasantly surprised, though, it doesn’t look weird. I mean it does but it looks weird in like a forbidden, almost…cute way. There’s not supposed to be a bulge under the delicate mesh, but there is and I like the way it looks. I drop the skirt from one of my hands and let my fingers just barely graze the lace on the top. I’m trying desperately not to think of bigger and warmer (impossibly bigger and warmer) hands trailing the same path up my thighs, pausing to admire the panties before delicately pulling at the lace. Because I’m still locked in my room alone and this is (at least partially) for Sunwoo. And I’m not (I’m just firmly, determinedly _not_ ) gonna jack off to the thought of him in the outfit I bought for him. My dick still jumps at the feeling of lace between skin and skin, though. 

I drop the skirt back in place and try to take in the whole thing again. It’s cute, until I make it past the sweater and then I’m almost missing the ugly Jan Di wig again. I know it was ugly but my short, unstyled hair just feels so plain. It doesn’t do justice to the really, _really_ cute outfit I put together. I sigh and try parting my hair differently, pushing my bangs to the side, sweeping them back but I still want something more feminine. I don’t know what but the flower pin from the Jan Di costume was cute (even if my hair is too short to put it in without the wig). I stop fussing with my hair and resign myself to finding a flower crown or bow or something like that from an old fan sign or whatever.

Anyway Sunwoo’s holed up in his room, studying a new drama script and I’m not gonna bother him. He was so excited when he got the script and I know he wouldn’t turn me away if I knocked on his door (in this outfit or not) but it wasn’t ready yet. The whole thing can wait. Sunwoo has pressed wet, hot kisses to my neck, pushing his hands up my shirt while I was hungover and wearing last night’s clothes before. I knew he wanted _me_ as _me_. I just wanted to give him something extra—sprinkles on the sundae, if you will. So I dejectedly take everything off and shove it back in the bottom of my drawer.

Later that night I offer my bed up to Channie (so he can sleep with Dongwoo or Jinyoung or both, I don’t care) and take his bed in the room he shares with Sunwoo. Sunwoo is still studying his script even though it’s late and technically we’re on break in between promotions. I try my best not to bother him outside of a quick kiss when I walk in. I have to consciously bite back my questions about how I looked, what I can improve, what I can do with my hair because it’s a surprise and I’m not gonna ruin the surprise. I try to distract myself by texting Seokjin but he’s always busy now and I know eventually Sunwoo will open up the group chat and see whatever I say so I can’t even ask his opinion on this. At some point I get distracted from my own distractions by Sunwoo. It’s too late and he’s still buried in the script, his tongue poking out past his big front teeth in concentration.

“Hey, babe,” I call, the first time using my voice since I laid down in Channie’s bed. He just hums noncommittally, still distracted. “You look really cute sticking your tongue out like that.”

He tucks his tongue back behind his teeth only to flash me a blinding smile. “You look really cute like that.” He rolls his chair back over to the bed to run a hand quickly over my exposed legs and the big hoodie covering my top half. I briefly wonder if he thinks that boxers and an oversized hoodie is my cutest outfit.

“You ready to go to bed?” I catch his hand and keep it, a little needy for attention.

“Is that why you’re in here and Channie’s not?” It’s not really a question or a secret or anything, we share beds more often than sleeping in our own rooms. I guess there’s something about being told that you’re wanted, though.

“Wanted to sleep with you.” I give him the satisfaction of hearing. He puts everything away and moves both of us to his bed. We kiss slow and lazy with the lights turned out. It could be sexy but it’s mostly just intimate. My legs are entangled with his and the feeling of skin-on-skin is comforting and easy. I can tell Sunwoo is exhausted anyway and all I wanted was a little bit of attention and closeness really. The fantasies of big and warm hands sliding up my body from earlier are easily replaced by a strong arm holding me gently against him and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Dongwoo manages to magically solve my hair problem when he unearths a box full of old fansign stuff from his closet. “I don’t even know if this shit is _mine_.” He huffs, dropping the whole box on the couch, leaving it for grabs.

I dig through it at some point, mostly just to see if it’s actually mine instead. The contents are shockingly generic—flower crown, oversized bow, some cheap and less than cute cat ears. I wouldn’t be able to say that this was a box of presents meant for B1A4, much less which member it was meant for. Somewhere in the box are two little hair clips with bees on the ends. I have no idea why Dongwoo has a box with bee clips in it, he’s got no kind of association with bees. No one in our group has any association with bees. Unless _B_ 1A4 was some kind of joke with the fans at some point (but if it was, I don’t remember it). I wonder for a second if there was any possible way that our fansign stuff ever got mixed up with Block B’s. It’s unlikely (I’ve never even talked to any of them) but it explains the bee thing at least.

Anyway, they’re cute. The bees are delicate and the yellow will look nice with the sweater I picked out so I pocket them. I take them with me to the bathroom and fuss with my hair, feeling the clips in my pocket the whole time like they bear any real weight. It’s a really long time I spend looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. This whole thing actually has been a lot of looking in the mirror, an exercise in my own narcissism I guess. But also it’s really nice to feel this good, this pretty for once. It’s really good to feel like the prettiest around when you’ve spent your entire adolescence with actual angel, Gong Chansik standing next to you.

Eventually I settle on parting my hair to one side and pushing the clips, criss-cross over each other on the other side. It’s cute but I also feel like it’s kinda...anime girl cute and I’m not sure how much I like that. So I shake my hair back to normal and stuff the clips back in my pocket and tell myself I’ll try it with the outfit some other time. 

Some other time comes when the dorms are half-empty, Dongwoo somehow scoring a solo spot on _Hello Counselor_ and Chansik hanging out with his pro gamer friends (Injae? Jinmo? I can’t keep up). Not like I’ve spent a ton of time with either of them recently anyway. I just feel all the empty space in the dorms and remember that I have a project waiting for me. I dig everything out of the bottom of my drawer for what feels like the millionth time and slip the entire light, airy outfit on.

Shockingly the little clips do not give off the anime girl vibe, at least not in the gross way I was worried about, despite the schoolgirl kinda theme the whole outfit had. Like the first time I tried it and like the rest of the outfit the clips are delicate and cute and feminine. I _feel_ delicate and cute and feminine in it. I like running my hands through my own hair but still feeling pretty. I purse my lips in the mirror jokingly and realize that I’m still barefaced and it looks weird against something so meticulously put together.

I remember what feels like lifetimes ago now, when I first came to Seoul and did the promotion photoshoot for our debut and a makeup artist gave me stage makeup for the first time. I remember how _heavy_ and _foreign_ it was, feeling sticky and suffocating on my face. And then it wasn’t just everyday, interview or performance makeup, it was concept makeup and then it was “high school girl” makeup for _B1A4 Over Flowers_ and I guess somewhere along the line I was totally desensitized. Because now I’m looking at my face without makeup and thinking it looks weird, thinking I could probably use some makeup—something at least.

I almost want to cry out of frustration because this whole thing has been sitting unfinished for _so long_ and I still can’t get it right. I just want to be done with it already. I wanna call Sunwoo into my room while I’m cutely bending over to find something or whatever and get fucked. I don’t wanna contemplate what’s having a good time and exploring my femininity and what’s wearing a girl costume anymore. But it’s pointedly not ready and it looks stupid and unfinished and unpolished. And Sunwoo deserves the world not half-assed whatever this is. I was still sick of my own perfectionism though (and I thought Sunwoo was the Virgo here).

I’m not good at makeup. I’ve never been good at makeup or anything even close (or a lot of things outside of singing and being the loudest person in the room). None of us are good at makeup. It was completely foreign to all of us when we showed up wanting to be singers (I think the difference between “singer” and “idol” hadn’t really sunk in for any of us yet). So I don’t have any makeup laying around and I doubt anyone else does either. But Jinyoung is super obsessed with his skincare routine and has like a ton of “health and beauty” products that we always make fun of him for (“even if you never get wrinkles, you’ve always been a grandpa”). I figure there’s gotta be something tinted or shimmery or at least mildly feminine in the like three drawers all that shit takes up.

I go to look without asking or changing because I can hear someone in the kitchen and it’s not me and it’s definitely not Sunwoo so Jinyoung’s probably occupied. Even if Jinyoung had any eyeliner or mascara or anything (which I sincerely doubt), I wouldn’t be able to apply it. I’m limited to like lip stuff or maybe blush, if I really concentrate. Luckily, the first drawer I open is _full_ of lip stuff, like an absolutely unreasonable and unnecessary amount of lip stuff. I pick up every pink tube I come across but most of them are just cherry or peach scented or whatever. Then my fingers close over a still-sealed one, a pink-tinted lip balm with a sparkle. It must’ve ended up with Jinyoung accidentally and he obviously won’t mind it missing (even if it was well-used I’d still take it and just replace it or whatever).

“Hwannie,” I hear down the hall, musical and fond, “Jinyoung wants to know why you’re in his room and more importantly _I’d_ love to know why you’re in his room.”

I just stand there like a fucking idiot, paralyzed by the shock of an absolutely plausible situation I never bothered to consider as I was rushing to finish this thing. Idiot. I haven’t even broken the seal on the lip balm yet.

I hear Sunwoo’s breath catch in his chest as he rounds his way into Jinyoung’s room. “Hwannie,” he says again but it’s no long a word in his mouth. It’s a reverent sigh. It’s a prayer.

I feel the moment hang in the air. I feel the tension, the million options, million endings, million outcomes weigh on me. And I know that if I move at all, the whole thing will shatter and I’ll have to press forward into action. And I don’t know what action is next. I’m not posed cutely, waiting for Sunwoo to come find me. I’m half-finished, hunched over Jinyoung’s drawer, clutching his lip balm like some kind of freak. I haven’t even come up with a plan to show off to Sunwoo under ideal conditions much less this…shit, whatever it was.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers behind me, hand curling around the lip balm in my clutch, “you want help with that?” It’s not sleazy and borderline-predatory like Sunwoo can get (mostly jokingly) when he’s trying to get into my pants. It’s soft—so unbelievably soft like I’m a china doll in his hands.

I swallow audibly and nod.

“Oh angel,” he says, running soft and cautious fingers over my bangs, careful not to mess up the styling. His voice is still a soft sigh but there’s something else to it. It’s not reverent and surprised. He sounds disappointed? Apologetic? “C’mere.” He guides me out of Jinyoung’s room and into mine. Jinyoung’s probably not getting any kind of explanation any time soon. It’s ok. He’ll live.

Sunwoo lets me flop gently onto my bed, the lip balm in his hands now, his fingers barely skimming over the cold plastic of the little bees on my clips before dropping back down. I haven’t managed to put together an explanation or a reveal or anything yet because Sunwoo is being so _delicate_ with me. Sunwoo’s sensitive, gentle, intuitive and spoils me frequently but he’s never treated me like I was glass. We spent years as trainees play wrestling and real wrestling and hitting each other with whatever was in our reach. He knows I’m not fragile, he knows _exactly_ where my breaking points are. It’s really, really not the slightly rough, slightly degrading “oh take me, oppa” situation I imagined when I finally made my reveal.

“You look so beautiful.” He’s kneeling between my legs, still eye-level with me, holding the lip balm still. “So cute, so precious.” The praise makes my face heat up. I expected praise (he’s always praising me even if it’s often backhanded or joking). I don’t expect it to be so reverent, though. I don’t expect him to look at me like I’m something to be worshipped. “Do you like feeling pretty, baby? Like looking so sweet?”

I nod mutely, my body tensed up and flushed pink. (The narcissism I’ve recently cultivated takes a moment to appreciate how _cute_ I must look like this.) I _do_ like looking pretty, though. I like knowing that I have my place in the visuals of the group. And even while I’m squirming under the scrutiny, the heavy, heady sweetness of it all, I still like the way Sunwoo is looking at me like this.

“You look like such an angel like this.” He dabs some of the lip balm on his finger and holds it up to my face. “I’m sorry anyone made you feel like sneaking around and hiding this.”

“No one’s seen this before.” I tell him, finally finding my voice again.

“I’m sorry you ever felt ashamed then or wanted to hide it.” He drops his finger onto the center of my bottom lip. “So beautiful.” He whispers again.

My face screws up in confusion. “I haven’t.” I tell him. “It was just a surprise. I wasn’t done with it yet.” I gesture towards the lip balm. “That’s why I was looking for this.”

His confused face mirrors mine. “Surprise?” His hand’s dropped from my face.

“Yeah,” I murmur, looking down shyly, “for you.”

“For me?” He breathes.

“Yeah, you said you liked the thigh highs so I wanted to get them for you but they didn’t look good by themselves so I got the skirt and then…” I trailed off. “It got out of hand.” I sigh.

“I thought…” He looks up at me with relief clear in his eyes. “I saw you all hunched over and nervous in a skirt, looking all pretty and I thought that it was like a self-expression thing. I felt like a shitty boyfriend for missing out on such a big part of you. I felt like I did something to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me.” He nuzzles into my neck softly. “I just wanted to make you feel safe and happy.”

“I mean, I like looking pretty I guess.” I shrug. “It’s not a big thing, though, it’s not like a part of my identity.”

He sighs deeply against my skin. “So I can still call you Junghwan?”

“Mhm.”

“And I can still call you ‘baby boy’ and ‘prince’ and use the same pronouns with you and stuff?”

“Yeah, this was honestly just to get fucked.”

He snorts and removes himself from my neck. “You can just make eye contact with me and bend over and I’ll fuck you, babe.”

“I know.” I hum. “I just thought this would be more fun.”

He threads his fingers through the hair on the back of my head and tugs me in for a quick and heated kiss. “You still look so fucking good.” He whispers against me. “Let me finish it up?” I nod eagerly, feeling my control on the situation slip away. It’s fine. I didn’t want any anyway.

I’d had my makeup done before like a million, zillion times, like so much of my life was spent trying to stay still in a makeup chair. It was such a non-event in my life (except it was really hard for me to sit still for as long as the makeup noonas wanted me to). Usually I was half-asleep, though or just fidgety enough to annoy the makeup artist. And the makeup noonas never called me beautiful or breathed out my name like it was a prayer. They were all professional and motherly and laughed cutely at my jokes like they were humoring an annoying younger sibling and they never got close enough for me to feel their warmth all over my body.

Sunwoo was obviously different. This _was_ an event. He burned against me whenever he was close. And he was close, closer than the makeup noonas ever dared to get, a closeness that I had always (always, _always_ , even before he ever kissed me) reserved for Sunwoo. And the makeup noonas stared, I knew but they stared at their work, always scanning over the lines and colors, working for perfection. Sunwoo was staring too but he was staring at _me_. There wasn’t even anything painted on my face yet to inspect. There was just me. But Sunwoo still inspected, I could feel his warm breath on my face, feel him forcing it into some kind of regular rhythm as he stared.

It was a hungry and greedy kind of stare, like he was trying to make me his with his gaze alone (I was already his though, already in so deep). “You picked out a pretty color.” He tells me casually, conversationally.

“I didn’t really pick it.” I laugh.

“No, look,” he tells me softly, holding up the color to my skin, “like an angel.” He praises. I don’t see what he must be seeing, it’s still the same shimmery pink color I picked up earlier. The praise still runs through me and straight to my dick though.

My skin breaks out in goosebumps once Sunwoo finally drops his finger on the middle of my bottom lip, my mouth parting automatically for him. His movements are jerky and unsure, too tightly controlled to be smooth. His breath comes out in short puffs of concentration, his tongue sticking cutely out on the side. And that’s what makes my heart hammer in my chest—his tongue sticking out in concentration, a ghost of a smile on his face. I spread my legs a little further, trying to get the hand resting on my thigh further up my leg.

He smirks at that, his fingers digging in where they were resting, ripping a needy whine from my throat. “My baby really likes being pretty, doesn’t he?” His eyes don’t move from where they’re glued onto my lips though, still trying to paint them perfectly. “So worked up already.”

My dick is already more than interested in the thought of light bruises on my thighs (barely-there dark marks on the expanse of skin that the skirt and the socks couldn’t hide) and the way Sunwoo is so clearly interested. And I _feel_ the panties straining against me suddenly. And there’s nothing to conceal it. It’s something I completely neglected to think about but the skirt only rises with my arousal and doesn’t hide anything. I’m completely on display for Sunwoo.

Sunwoo wipes some excess lipgloss off of the corner of my mouth and moves back to inspect his work.

“Please.” I murmur quietly, almost shamefully—knowing that he can see how much I want him.

“Please what, pretty baby?” He asks fondly, thumbing against my cheekbone. I try to pull him down for a rough kiss, imagining the slick and pretty mess we could make of the lipgloss but he stops me. “And ruin my hard work so soon?” He teases.

He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, barely catching any of the lipgloss at all. “I think we should leave you all pretty and pristine like this.” He trails open-mouthed kisses down my jaw and neck, smearing the sticky lipgloss that he caught on his lips with him as he went. “I mean, we both worked so hard.”

I grip my fingers into his hips just to have something to hold. “I want you to ruin it—ruin me.” I admit in a quiet breath.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he whispers and the tone alone sends shivers down my spine, “I’ll ruin you, baby.” He sucks a dark mark in the middle of the empty expanse of my neck to prove his point. And he stays at that spot under my jaw, mouthing and licking and biting and making me whine, pulling taut at the collar of my sweater. “So easy to mark you in this, so much room to work with.” I’m squirming and keening at his voice, canting my hips for friction that isn’t there.

“Please.” I plead.

“What now, baby?”

“Touch me, please.” I lift up my hips for him, the tent in the skirt absolutely _obscene_ , nearly lifting it up entirely.

He slides his hand up slowly, driving me crazy. “Here?” He teases, his fingers centimeters away from the edge of the panties.

I push my hips up high as a response, praying that his hand will slide up just the tiniest bit. And he does. He slides up, _finally_ skimming over the mesh of the panties and I think I’ll combust from the sheer heat of him.

“Oh?” He says, finally feeling the material. It’s not condescending or teasing this time though, it’s genuine. He’s curious, he’s surprised. He _wants_.

He pushes my tented skirt out of the way to finally see the panties. My dick is flushed red (a pretty, muted pink visible through the white mesh) and straining against the material, a dark wet spot staining near the tip. His breath hitches and he freezes. “Oh,” he says again, skimming his hand lightly up the underside and snapping the lace against my skin.

I hiss at the snap, biting my lip and turning away from him.

His eyes focus again at the noise. His hand travels back down, fingers rubbing into the wet spot in the panties. “So wet for me already, princess?” He asks, his eyes glinting dangerously, not applying enough pressure for me to get off—just enough to tease.

“Please.” I whimper. “Please, Sunwoo, fuck me.” I beg.

And I know if I just said “please” in that voice he loves so much, Sunwoo would give me the moon, the stars and the entire world.

(This time though he doesn’t give me the moon, the stars or the entire world. He gives me dark marks scattered along my collarbone and neck and on the insides of my thighs. He gives me enough saccharine, sincere and demeaning praise to make me bury my face in the covers. And he gives me an orgasm so good my whole body trembles and my voice cracks and some of my own cum hits me in the chin.)

Afterwards the panties end up in a crumpled, sticky and soiled heap on the floor somewhere. Actually most of the outfit ends up in that state. The socks are bunched up and slipping under my knees, the skirt is discarded somewhere and the sweater is sweaty, stretched-out and sticking to me. I can feel the sticky remnants of the lipgloss all around my mouth. And I guess he did keep his promise.

“You think you can get the cum outta this?” Sunwoo asks sleepily, rolling the material of the sweater between his fingers.

“Probably,” I shrugged, “it’s not fancy or anything.” I let my eyes wander over the pile of clothes on the floor. “The panties might be fucked though.”

He pulls me close and wraps around me. “My fault, I’ll buy you new ones.”

“So you like this?” I prod.

“I like _you_.” He answers fondly and noncommittally, smiling at me.  

“I know that, idiot.” I complain. “But do you like _this_ , like me dressing up?”

He considers it for a second. “Yeah, you look good.”

“Then, yeah, buy me more panties.” I tell him, sleepily. “We’ll do this again.”

He pushes my sweaty bangs off my forehead and leaves them sticking up where ever they are. “So, I can call you ‘princess’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘pretty’ too and that’s ok?”

And I can’t believe he’s still stuck on that. I figured it was resolved already. “Yes.” I groan. You can call me anything. You can call me whatever you want when you fuck me. It’s fine, it’s good.”

“What about other times?”

“There won’t be other times. This is like exclusively a kink thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I only did this because you said I looked good in thigh highs. When I tried on the panties for the first time I got hard like there is no part of this that _isn’t_ sexual.”

“I just don’t wanna be a shitty boyfriend.” He murmurs into my hair.

“You’re not. That’s why I treated you with this.”

His fingers find their way down from my hair over blooming dark marks on my neck and chest, over the stretched-out sweater before settling on my hip. His eyes trail down over the other dark marks on the insides of my thighs, though. “I missed this sweater.”

“You remember it?” I laughed. I couldn’t even remember the last time I wore it.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “you wore it to a fanmeet one time in winter and you were all bundled up cutely.” I feel his eyes rake hungrily over me again. “I think I like it better like this, though.”

I’m almost disgusted with how quickly he’s recovered from fucking me into the mattress. “I was gonna suggest a shower but I don’t think you’re done.” I roll my eyes.

He trails his fingers back up, under the sweater. “Maybe no dressing up this time?” He suggests. “Maybe we just like…make love?”

I gag at the phrasing. “You fucking sap.”

“I still feel guilty, ok?” He explains.

“For _nothing_!” I retaliate. But it’s playful. It’s all playful. It’s playful even when Sunwoo touches me like I’ll break under him. It’s playful when his fingers dig in so hard they leave marks. It’s playful when he snuggles into me half-awake. It’s playful when he looks at me like I’m the whole world. It’s playful so even when it’s so heavy and sweet it should suffocate me, it makes my heart soar.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly? tbh? the best part of badeul is that they're so like painfully, truly like "would die for each other" in love but also like they're so playful??? they're always pushing each other around and making dick jokes and never take anything seriously, it's good  
> [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


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